


Oh Captain, My Captain

by Sherlaufeyson



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 00:44:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14842337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlaufeyson/pseuds/Sherlaufeyson
Summary: Inner thoughts of several of the crew of the Starship: Discovery, primarily about their Captain Gabriel Lorca





	1. "I need you. You need you."

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after watching S01E13 What's Past is Prologue
> 
> I felt like everything was about to get fucked up pretty seriously on the ship, and wanted to get my feelings out before that happened.
> 
> Any constructive criticism would be very much appreciated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael Burnham

“I need you. You need you”. 

It was a strange thing for Captain Lorca to say to me. Not exactly the motivational speech I’d come to expect from him. This was… personal. I’ve felt over the past few days, he’s become more forward with me. Although I’m still unconvinced by his explanations of why, exactly, I’m still on the ship. 

He is brilliant, can hardly claim to need my scientific skills, not to mention the scientific resources he already has at his fingertips. He has never shown any particular physical interest in me, although, I admit, I would be unlikely to pick up on subtle human signals of amorous intent. He does seem to possess a desire to seek out conflict. Initially I thought he wanted me on the ship to that end, to be another voice in favour of attack, however, I felt I was adept at dispelling those misconceptions. My mutiny and subsequent act of war were borne out of an absolute belief that it was the best path to ensure the least bloodshed and ultimately stem any escalation of conflict.

Still, he has kept me on for this long, and I can’t say it’s worse than the mining colony I was destined for. I will wait this out. I may yet be able to redeem myself before giving up my life to the quarry.

Tyler has proved a… difficult companion. He is clearly suffering from some post-traumatic disorder, however that doesn’t explain why he no longer holds my interest. I look at him, and find my thoughts drifting away to the Captain. Tyler has dead eyes. The Captain has… eyes that could make a galaxy weep. I have become lost in them on more than one occasion and I wonder if it is intentional on his part, to keep those he communicates with in person less critical of his words.

Indeed, I often find it’s only after I leave the room following a conversation with him, that my brain truly comprehends the gravity of what he’s just suggested. An understanding that we will be breaking the laws of the federation, an explicit disregard for protocol, a breaking down of rank. All things that, given the right circumstances, I might be in favour of. However, I don’t believe it’s my sanction he seeks when he invites me to talk over these proposals. He neither asks for my opinion nor advice. I truly believe he must simply desire my company.

I cannot deny that I enjoy his.

His presence is… magnetic. He draws me in. His voice, his physicality… those eyes. Also it doesn’t sound significant, but - his mouth. The way it twists as he thinks or speaks. The way it contorts when he says something low, only designed for my ears. And he often uses this register when we are the only two souls in the room. As if his words to me are secret.

“I need you.”

What sort of a thing is that to say to a subordinate? A convict subordinate at that, on a suicide mission, from which return is… unlikely. No matter how much I reject the notion that I would fail at anything. I believe that is why I rose through the ranks at the academy so fast. My absolute belief in success. If you believe you can succeed at anything, the strength of your self-belief will only prove unfounded in the event that you fail. If that time should come sooner in life, you will live a very successful, albeit short one.

“I need you”.

He needs me, but for what? Companionship – he has and has had so many companions, I sincerely doubt that there is anything particularly special about my company. I have treated him with polite regard since I arrived on this ship. Nothing more. Neither have I presented myself as something of a hard-to-pin target, which I am to understand many men will pursue on principle. No, I have treated him with professional distance, polite courtesy and nothing more.

He can’t need my mind, he doesn’t seem to desire my body. So what can it be that he keeps me for? These semi-regular dangerous, illegal missions? My judgement? My disposability? 

But his hair. So soft, and thick. When presenting him as a prisoner to Phillipa, I confess I couldn’t remove my hand from his head. Stroking his neck, carding my hand through his hair. The least professional conduct I have ever displayed, mutiny notwithstanding.

Time will tell what he meant by his words. But if I am to get an answer, I do need me. To pull myself out of this distraction, destroy the empire, and find my way back to free Lorca. 

I imagine kissing him. He seems slight and tall from a distance, but up close there is a breadth to the chest that is very pleasing. When I lock eyes with him, my vision swims until there is nothing left but those bottomless pools of blue and light. His hand comes up to card through my hair and I do the same to his, with my right arm reaching under his shoulder to feel the strength of his back. His hand on my head angles my neck so I am looking up at him on an angle. Still those eyes hold my gaze fixed. Our lips come together in a conflagration. Fiery tingles dart across every point where our skin touches. His lips are parted slightly and his breath is hot on my mouth, which opens in surrender. The corners of his eyes crinkle with amusement, while his pupils dilate with arousal. I hear a gutteral moan and realise the noise came from me. He pushes our lips together forcefully and licks into my mouth and I realise my knees are no longer holding my own weight. His arm not concerned with holding my neck in place wraps around my upper back and holds me. Our chests press together, heartbeats racing, and I can feel him against me. As I start feeling light headed, he breaks the contact of our mouths and takes a half step backwards, putting a few inches of space between us. His irises have almost disappeared and I can only imagine that mine look the same. 

That wicked mouth does the same quirk as when he’s heard a particularly silly order from high command that he has no intention of following, and I suddenly know that I’m going to find it very difficult to concentrate on the bridge if he continues pulling those faces every time an officer makes a particularly poor judgement call.

I’m roused from my imaginings by the ship’s computer telling me it will be ten seconds before jump. I look over at Captain Lorca, and he smiles that crooked smile at me. I’m thankful he cannot see me blushing, however the moment our eyes lock, I feel a jolt in the pit of my stomach that tells me he might not be able to read my face, but it may well be possible for him to have read my thoughts.


	2. "Captain, I didn't know you cared."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul Stamets

“Captain, I didn’t know you cared.”

Well, that was completely obvious. Captain Lorca doesn’t _care_ , Captain Lorca has been using your mind to find a way to exploit your tardigrade, and using your body to get the data he wants on the spore drive’s capabilities. He’s using you, unapologetically, like a laboratory rat, and you’re flattered that he cares about the science.  
Ever since you took this mission, you’ve been keeping your distance from him. Keeping your findings from him. You can sense his war-mongering from the other side of the ship. How he wants to use your mycelium to build a weapon, how his vision is so short sighted it makes you want to scream.

But he’s so charismatic. It’s inescapable. When he shows up, you want to show off. You crave that approval. You need it. You want to prove your worth. You want him to be impressed with your discoveries, your findings. It’s ninety-percent of the reason you took this mission. It would be far safer to have stayed on terra-firma, but the potential for greatness was what drew you. You’ve always craved greatness. Now, after decades of study, research and hard work, you’re the Specialist. You’re the prize cargo, the one without whom the mission would be impossible. They all need you.

So why do you need him?

Every time he shows up on your deck, you’re so eager to give away everything. Every new theory, every new discovery. All he does is push you harder, shorten the impending deadline, add new requirements. One of these days it will kill you, but for now, you will keep working harder, achieving results faster, until that day comes. 

“You showed me this invention could take us to places we never dreamed we could reach. This is far beyond my preconceptions of time and space.” Those 26 words make it all worth it. It’s the carrot dangled in front of the donkey. Months and years of barely an acknowledgement, but now he needs something from you. Instant approval. He knows how to push your buttons.

And that’s what makes him so dangerous. 

It’s the gut feeling you had the moment you stepped on board. The war-mongering. The instant understanding of his natural charisma and what that would mean for you. And you followed him blindly. Knowingly. 

He looks at you with those starry eyes. Those eyes that seem to hold the secrets of the universe, so it doesn’t seem like you’re giving much away when you start explaining those self-same secrets to him. The mycelia, space and time, astromycoloy, the potential for organic propulsion.

History is littered with the likes of you – intelligent, hopeful, rational men, exploited by charismatic, ambitious leaders. He’s tempting you, leading you to certain doom.

And you would do it again. 

When it turns out he’s been using you all along, you’re not surprised. Whether he was using you to get back to Base 46, or to get back home to his parallel dimension, it is inconsequential. He needed you, he used you, and you invited him in.


	3. "Just look at his skin, it's so dewy."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvia Tilly

“Just look at his skin, it’s so dewy.” 

It’s so dewy? What the fudge! What on earth about Seeing Lieutenant Commander Stamets incapacitated has got you all gooey-eyed. Desperately hoping Saru didn’t make anything of it. Not that there is anything to make of, of course! Perfectly reasonable observation, you’ve been monitoring the spores, they are dewy, there’s nothing odd about remarking on the effect they’ve been having on the scientific officer’s porcelain complexion!

It’s also absolutely critical to keep watch over his muscle tone and ensure that there are no adverse effects while he lays there, helpless and unmoving. And you miss him, explaining his latest findings, getting exasperated with you. You almost wish things could go back to the way they were before Michael Burnham had come on board and shaken everything up. 

At least then you knew where you stood. Doctor Culber would have been looking over Stamets’ wellbeing and you would have been eating lunch alone in the cafeteria, with no impure thoughts running through your head other than fantasies of occupying a rank higher than that for which you were currently qualified. Ensign Tilly… Lieutenant Tilly… Captain Tilly…. Admiral Tilly. Of course that’s where this is headed after all. Much more comfortable behind a desk. The excitement of a mission is, well, exciting after all. But you can have too much of a good thing. 

But back to Paul. Lieutenant Commander Stamets. It is worrying seeing him comatose like this, with flickering life-signs, and it’s downright creepy when his eyes glaze over like there’s an actual pale blue glass contact in there. It’s strange that somehow, despite all this, he doesn’t seem dangerous. Even though you’ve seen first hand what one careless sweep of his arm can accomplish, it’s impossible to reconcile actions like that with the peaceful man laying down before you. With his placid expression, his neatly pressed uniform still hugging his lightly toned square shoulders, his blonde hair perfectly in place, his eyelashes…

What on earth was your point, Tilly?

Lieutenant Commander Paul Stamets. Condition: comotose but we’re keeping a positive outlook on things.  
Ensign Sylvia Tilly. Condition: hopelessly lost in the eyes of her former commander.


End file.
